Hate
by H. K. Rissing
Summary: Why does Justin Hammer hate Tony Stark? A word prompt, because I feel sorry for him, and, as ever, don't think he is a totally irredeemable bad guy. Written using the Justin Hammer portrayed in Iron Man 2, the movie.


Why does Justin Hammer hate Tony Stark? Shall I start alphabetically, or chronologically? For starters, let's discuss Justin's childhood. Not a good one by anyone's standards. Stark and Hammer Industries had only just begun, rising like phoenixes, symbols of hope, from the ashes of a war-torn world, promising protection, freedom and peace to all who signed a contract with them. Justin Hammer Sr. got married, and to his deepest pride and greatest pleasure, produced a son shortly after. Justin Hammer Jr. was going to be his crowning achievement, the jewel of his life's work, and the heir to the empire he was steadily building. But the brilliant son of his imaginings was not to be. At age three, Justin was talking in complete sentences and walking unaided, reading and trying to write and throwing temper tantrums to put anything else to shame. Then Anthony Stark was born. "A playmate for you, Jus," his father had said, when he took him to Stark Mansion to introduce him to his future rival. That was the last time Justin Junior can remember his father calling him "Jus".

The first seven years of his life were all right. But then the scored of his first standardized test (at the finest private academy in New York, of course) came back. He had aced reading, aced grammar, aced history with perfect scores. Math and science, however, he only exceeded. His father howled with fury, and that was the first night Justin could remember receiving a beating. He studied harder, read more books, and studied advanced material. He poured over math and science texts until his eyesight got so bad he needed glasses at the ripe age of eight. But that he only did out of duty, out of desperation, the need to make his father proud. And also out of fear of his belt. His true passion was reading. He read all the classics until he could quote them, studied the politicians and the philosophers, the poets and the playwrights. This he could only do at night while his father slept, or when he was away on a business trip. If Hammer Sr. caught his son with any book in his hands, regardless of subject matter or author, if it was not scientific or mathematical, the book went in the fire, various areas of Justin's body pulsed black and blue for the next week and he went without food that night. He learned this the hard way, by watching A Midsummer Night's Dream and Macbeth die a slow death among the coals. It did not worry or impress Hammer Sr. that his son was reading Machiavelli at the age of nine. If he was not inventing things, was not a genius to rival Howard Stark's son, he was nothing. Once, he spoke up against his father, argued that the words of Aristotle could be counted as scientific, because Aristotle was one of the greatest scientists of his time. His father slapped him so had his glasses flew across the room and he had problems seeing straight the following hour.

He was jumped to sixth grade instead of second; because of all the ungodly hours he had toiled at math and science. (Anything history or language arts could throw at him, he could handle) Then he was Justin again, not "pathetic" "imbecile" and "moron", some of his father's kinder epithets for the son he deemed worthless. He thought things might get better, once he was in middle school. Things only got worse. His father knew everything he was doing curriculum wise, and had the pone number and email address of every single teacher in the school, and he used them recurrently, near the point of incessantly. Justin showed no natural aptitude for science or math, and without both of those skills, he could not be an engineer, and if he wasn't an engineer, as his father constantly reminded him, he was of no worth. Justin studied every moment he could, but no matter what he did, math just didn't come easily to him.

When he was skipped to eighth grade, h took chemistry and physics. That was the first time science not only made sense to him, but also engaged his attention. Instead of the ninety-eight or the ninety-nine and the feeling of sinking dread that he was used to having when it came to science, he had a one hundred and came him daily with new facts crammed into his head. He wrote them all down in the top-of-the-line computer his father had purchased for him in the hopes that it would spark a love of engineering. (Needless to say, this hadn't worked) All of his science facts, everything he learned, hypotheses, theories, and all he had researched outside of class for his own knowledge, were compiled in a file on his computer, which was in his room. His room was the only place in the entire house (house, not home) that was free of the overbearing taint of his father. Imagine his shock when he walked into his room quietly one day from school, hoping he might be able to steal few hours to read Tolkien, and found his father sitting at his desk, scrolling through his hard drive, snooping through all the documents in his Microsoft software. Justin became acutely aware of every book he'd bought from second- and third-hand dealers all over New York with his meager allowance, none of them related in the slightest to math and science, all of them arranged neatly on shelves. He had secretly been pleased with himself, for having kept his collection a secret from his father, but now he supposed his father had known all along. Surprisingly, hammer Sr. only stood from the computer desk chair, said, "Perhaps there's hope for you yet," and walked out the door.

The summer before his high school years passed in a blaze of misery. At least in the school year, he was out of the house, and could read whatever and whenever he wanted. In the summer, under his father's watchful eye, he spent eight hours a day on math, and was then dismissed to his room, just like every summer. Justin spent the rest of his time researching psychology, human psyche, and mind games, because he knew that an twelve year old in high school, no matter how elite, would get beaten up, and he had more than enough corporeal reminders of how defenseless and small he was daily from his father.

On his first day of ninth grade, he already had a plan. The first point was to not draw too much undue attention to himself. That meant no asking questions, no raising his hand, no discussing grades, no talking about almost anything to anyone. If he needed help, he could privately ask after class. This would also sway the teachers in his favor: it would cast him as the brilliantly talented, but also humble boy who was too shy to steal the spotlight. The second and third points were to get all one hundreds (easily manageable in every class but math) and to avoid getting beat up at all costs. And of course, begin to spin his webs. Because over the summer, he had begun to study how to manipulate people. And if he played his cards right, by the time he graduated, he'd hold the entire student body in his hands.

All the girls already thought he was adorable, with his blue eyes, brown hair, big glasses, and kind, bland words and actions, a tiny spot of sincerity on the backstabbing backdrop of high school. (Adorable, not handsome, like a puppy or a doll) His fellow nerds, except the overly competitive ones who struggled to beat him at every turn, found him something akin to a god. People who were rude to him ended up in mysterious situations. After the last boy who called him a name fell down a flight of stairs and broke both his legs, the jocks learned to stay well enough away from Justin Hammer. In truth, Justin hasn't had anything to with this incident, but it served his purposed nevertheless, so he did nothing to quash the rumors. He quietly asked for every quiz and test to be curved, begged for extra credit opportunities or extra assignments in every class, and of course, made fullest use of every resource the pathetically limited school library had to offer. The librarians began to say that they might as well just begin calling it his library, as he was the one who used it the most. None of it was good enough for his father; especially not after Tony Stark entered MIT. Justin learned to take the slaps and punches, learned how to focus elsewhere to alleviate the pain until later, when he could properly treat his bruises and marks. He learned to tune his father out when he raged about how unnecessary and disappointing he was. He began building up his muscle mass, and the summer before he went into eleventh grade, when he was fourteen, he grew a foot. He got into an argument with his father over what his major should be in college, and when his father swung, he caught his fist in one hand and pushed him in the chest with the other. He fell, and Justin fled to his room, (he had run out of shelving space for all his books, and now they teetered to the ceiling in precarious stacks all over the room) terrified by what he had done.

The night before he left for college, the wills of Hammer Sr. and Hammer Jr., who had become quite willful instead of the meek, submissive child his upbringing should have ensured, clashed for the first and final time. Justin Jr. had decided he would not be steamrolled any longer, and argued with every ounce of fire and logic he possessed. Later, throat hoarse from screaming, as he lay in his bed, he came to a realization. All these years he had labored over something he hated, because he wanted to make his father proud. He had never stopped and asked himself, "But why? Why do I want him to be proud of me?" originally, it had been to avoid beatings, but now that he could hit back? When he woke up, all his books were gone, and his father said that he could have them back when he remembered his place. So quietly, he went to college to double major in math and engineering.

The news came midway through his junior year. His father had died of a heart attack. Justin sat in his room silently that day, trying to sort through his emotions. This was the man who had raised him. Because he had to read in secret at night, he learned stealth. Because he labored over math and got jumped to high school, he learned self-defense and psychology. Because of this man, he became strong, mentally and physically. Could it be possible that he had been raised well? Cruel to be kind and all that? No, he decided. Because of him, he had been robbed of a normal childhood, and he had never once in his life been able to do as he pleased. He searched deeply within himself, and found words there instead of feelings, because let's face it, words were the only thing that had ever been consistently on his side, small and black and they were, "I hope he died alone. I hope he died alone, and in pain, and frightened." Justin contemplated that. So he was a horrible person, for being glad that his father was dead, and then even worse, for hoping he died alone, in pain and frightened- but then wasn't that how Justin had lived out the majority of his life thus far? He would do the whole "grieving son" bit for the press, of course, but he would know. And hour later, he received an email from his father's PA, saying he had been named as the sole successor to Hammer Industries, and the moment he graduated, he would be in charge of everything. Now, just like Anthony, he was in charge of his father's company after his untimely demise. He changed his majors to commerce and business, and his life became considerably improved, save for one outstanding incident, which shall be disclosed later.

Justin Hammer hates Tony Stark because not one day went by when he didn't hear, "I bet Anthony Stark could do it," or "I bet Anthony Stark could do it better," or some other variant. He associates the very name with pain and misery.

Justin Hammer hates Tony Stark because he is everything Hammer Sr. could have wished for in a son and then some, which he never missed an opportunity to remind Justin. He is smart, skilled with tools, a good engineer, and certainly not wasting his time reading books. Was it not enough for him to be clever, funny, brilliant, talented, beloved of the press? (In short, everything Justin wished he was) Did he have to be handsome as well? So yes, Justin hates him for material, vain reasons, too.

Justin Hammer hates Tony Stark for his womanizing ways, for his lackadaisical attitude, for his flippancy, for his insouciance. He had no idea how perfect and easy his life is, and how Justin would give almost anything to have it. Justin cannot understand why everything should be so easy for him, why he is almost literally allowed to get away with murder. What makes him so special that he doesn't have to follow the same rules as everyone else on the planet?

But the biggest reason why Justin Hammer hates Tony Stark is for something that happened when he was sixteen. In the cutthroat world of college where all were clawing for the top position, friends, especially true friends for an oddity such as a child prodigy, were very hard to find. He had sat by himself in the dining hall, for the 196th time, and had been gazing out a window at the waterlogged world outside, hoping some reprieve from the great- well, not blue- yonder would save him from math class when he felt someone sit down next to him. A girl by the name of Katherine was happily spearing a piece of lettuce from her salad as he turned to goggle at her. A few minutes passed in silence until she said, "I'm friendless too, but I'm tired of being alone." A quiet trust bloomed between them during their sophomore year, and if you asked him, Justin would have said immediately and doubtlessly that she was his favorite person on earth.

In his junior year, after The News, he was walking back to his dorm from the labs, where a science project had taken longer than he expected to complete. The crepuscular twilight had spread mechanically over the campus, and rain was falling. Justin had stood under the awning, scowling at the sky for a moment, then pulled up his hood, hunched his shoulders and began his sloshing progress. How he would later curse those moments of hesitation. Maybe if he had begun walking faster, he could have done something. While on his way, he saw two dark figures hovering over another, who lay on the ground, clearly under attack. Before the drops of water that had collected on his glasses could stream off, three gunshots rang out. He raced over as fast and as loudly as he could. The assailants fled, and one dropped its gun. Laying on the ground, hair streaming into the gutter, wet and shining in the misty orange corona of the nearby streetlight, was Katherine. With her last vestiges of energy, she wound her arms around Justin in an embrace far too cold and slippery. Blood looks awfully black in the rain. Her last breath whistled over his shoulder, and the fog on his glasses spread to his brain, which could not- would not- compute how the only person he had ever loved in the world had just died in his arms.

The campus police, drawn by the gunshots, found him there, numb and sobbing and clutching her cooling body close. They pulled him away. An ambulance was called, a blanket draped over his shoulders (that did nothing to stop the shivering) and the night was stained with flashing, artificial brightness. Of course, he was suspected, and subsequently bombarded with questions, but it was hard to doubt the fervor of his convictions, not after he saw the gun that fired the shots that took her life as they brought it into the pool of light. He recognized it as one of the firearms mass-produced by Stark Industries, designed personally by Tony Stark. It was on that night that Justin Hammer vowed to ruin Anthony Stark if it was the last thing he did. He has hated him with every fiber of his being ever since.


End file.
